


Through Hell and High Water

by orphan_account



Category: Set the Thames on Fire (2015)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Child Death, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Sad Ending, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, and terrible, enjoy i guess, this is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 19:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18321455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is my take on Dickie's backstory. It's kinda bad for my writing, but it is 3am XD anyway, enjoy this angsty, depressing fever dream





	Through Hell and High Water

_ Water, water everywhere, since the river rose. And no one's ever been the same. _

 

Dickie had never liked water much. It made his clothes stick onto him uncomfortably. It made his hair look lank and uncared for. Oh, and he almost drowned as a child. He would often repeat the first two reason to himself to block out the final one. It was impossible to avoid water nowadays. All the streets were flooded ankle high with dirty Thames water. Even the air was heavy with the stuff, causing everyone to look like they had just worked out. All the time. 

Dickie used to be a drag queen, working nights behind the bar in PINK, a small but fairly popular club in Camden Town. He had been fairly happy, a steady relationship with a man he met at work, a little apartment, and a decent paying job. He never knew what happened to his boyfriend. He thinks of Howard daily.

It all fell apart when the river rose. PINK flooded beyond repair, forcing him to find work elsewhere. He soon had a not so glamorous job as The Impresario’s right hand man, with prostitution thrown in for extra money. His apartment was robbed, which left him with nothing until his boss gave him a small house. He wasn’t happy. Not only was his life falling to pieces, he had lost the two people most precious to him.

 

**1 Hour Since The River Rose**

Dickie sighed in relief, the door was unlocked. He was soaked through, after being caught badly by the rising water. It was the first time he had truly felt fear, and he thought he was going to die. Making his way inside, he noted all the random trinkets, windows into the past. There was a photo of a couple with a young girl. In less than a day, this family’s home had became its own dystopian world.

Slowly, he made his way up the creaky staircase. The damp had already weakened it, and it felt like it was going to fall. At the top of the stairs, a door opened slowly, and a small head appeared around the side. It was a little girl, only about six years old. Dickie recognised her as the child in the picture.She slammed the door quickly, and he heard the lock turn. He decided to knock, and be as nice as possible.

“W-who is it?” and tiny voice squeaked nervously from the other side of the door.

“My name’s Dickie. What’s yours?” He whispered in reply, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible.

“Alexis, but most people call me Al. Do you know where my mummy is?” 

Dickie reeled back, unsure of what to say to the little girl. He knew the chance that her mother was still alive was slim. Outside looked like a warzone.

“I’m sorry, Al, I don’t know where she is.”

“Oh… okay.” Al muttered, before falling silent. After a few minutes, Dickie knocked on the door again.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Al… could ya unlock the door? I promise I won’t ‘urt ya.”

There was a pause, then a click as the door swung open.

Behind the door was a young girl with long, pitch black hair and tired yet kind eyes. There was no colour or brightness left in them. She turned, touching the wall as she wobbled away from the entrance.

“Are you-” Dickie mumbled, but got interrupted as the girl spun around.

“Yes. I’m blind. And yes, I can find my way around fine.”

 

**One Week Later**

Earlier that day, Dickie had left to find a job. The two were running out of food, and fast. After a couple of nights, Al had begun to trust Dickie enough to talk to him about herself. She was shy, and hated sharing her feelings with others. But Dickie stuck by her regardless. Dickie enjoyed her company a lot, and a small part of him was glad she didn't know what he looked like. Few people were nice to him about his appearance to say the least. He was tall at about six foot, and had an athletic build at that. Blond bangs and short pigtails framed his face, large blue eyes under shaved off eyebrows. He usually drew them on, but there was a shortage of makeup in the floods. He had a large nose and thin lips. He wasn't attractive in the traditional sense, but a few people found him quite striking. His outfits were what set him apart from the crowd though, with a collection of mini-dresses and high-heels, often paired with hoop earrings and fishnets.

Dickie, after searching for hours, had given up. He had found a bar that, miraculously, was still operating, and had sat down for a drink when he felt a pair of eyes settle on him. Uncomfortably, he finished his drink and left quickly. The eyes followed him out of the door. And down the street. Suddenly, rough hands grabbed at his waist, spinning him around.

“Well, well, well. What ‘ave we got ‘ere?”

Dickie gulped, frozen in terror. The man was much bigger than him, in height and stature. He was bald, and had a huge wart on his lower lip. He looked mean.

“Well, what is ya name, laddie?”

“Dickie…”

“Well, Dickie, a little birdie told me you were lookin’ for a job.”

Dickie gulped again, and nodded slightly.

“Come work for me, lad. You’ll get clothes, food, drugs and a place to sleep.”

“Okay… but I don’t do drugs.”

The man smirked at him, “You do now,” And dragged him away.

 

**Two Days Later**

The door clicked open, sending Al jumping to her feet.

“Hey, Al. It’s just me.” Dickie sighed.

“What the hell, Dickie? I trusted you and you abandoned me!”

“No, Al. I got myself a job, and a better place for us. Now, are ya comin’ with me or not?”

Al was taken aback for a second. Dickie seemed different, colder and meaner. He most definitely wasn’t the same man who left the house a few days ago. Nonetheless, Al decided to join him.

“Wait, I’m coming!” She grabbed Dickie’s hand and he flinched away, but kept hold. Slowly, they left the flat together.

 

**At The Impresario’s House**

Dickie opened the door to a very unimpressed, almost angry looking Impresario.

“Well, Dickie, who’s yer little friend?”

“Sir, I can explain…”

“Go on then!”

“I- I found her when the river rose… she’s blind, and has no one else to care for her.”

The Impresario turned away, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Ok, Dickie, but she stays far away when you’re doin’ business.”

“Of course, Sir!”

“Oh, and Dickie dear?” The Impresario turned with a sickly sweet smile on his face.

“Yes, Sir?”

The Impresario lunged at him, tackling him to the ground and almost breaking his nose in the process.

“Don’t do anything without my permission ever again!”

Dickie nodded and was about to say something when he was interrupted by Al:

“Leave him alone!”

The Impresario turned and smiled at the little girl.

“You’re a feisty one, ain’t ya?” His smile became an angered sneer, “I don’t like feisty girls.”

The Impresario showed himself out.

“Al… don’t speak back to my boss. Just… stay away from him. Please.” He slowly stood up.

“But-”

“No buts, Al…”

“Okay,” Al sighed, “What’s your job anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

**The Next Day**

Dickie was at work. Yet again. He had left Al in the apartment, telling her not to leave, it was dangerous outside. Little did either of them know, the greatest danger was inside. The Impresario was extremely sneaky and light-footed for someone of his size and stature. And he wanted to kill.

Al was getting ready to go to bed. She hadn’t changed in weeks, so she wasn’t going to now. To her surprise, there was a working record player in her room, complete with a set of records. She hadn’t heard of most of the bands. Stuff like Gary Numan and Iggy Pop. She ended up putting on a disc titled “The Clash - Hits Back”. The player crackled to life and started sputtering out lyrics:

 

_ London calling to the faraway towns… _

 

Her door slowly opened, but the music drowned out any sound, and she couldn’t see.

 

_ Now war is declared and battle come down… _

 

An ugly sneer on his lips, he pulled an ornate dagger from his back pocket.

 

_ London calling to the underworld… _

 

He leaned forward and whispered gleefully,

“I don’t like feisty girls.”

 

_ Come out of your cupboard, you boys and girls… _

 

In one quick swipe, the young girl died. The Impresario looked up for a second.

“I don’t like The Clash much either.”

 

**10ish Minutes Later**

“Al? I’m home!” Dickie limped inside, carefully locking the door. He swore he had locked it earlier…

“Al?” 

Upstairs, he could hear a familiar tune playing.

 

_ This is a public service announcement… with guitars… _

 

Dickie slowly climbed the stairs.

 

_ Know your rights, all three of them… _

 

He opened the door to Al’s room, expecting to see her asleep in bed.

 

_ Number one, you have the right not to be killed… _

 

What he saw shocked him straight to the core. He dropped to his knees, and let out a sob. A cold hand snaked on to his shoulder.

“I could throw you out if I wanted…”

 

_ And number two, you have the right to food, money… _

 

Dickie shook his head,

“You… monster…”

 

_ Number three, you have the right to free speech… _

 

The Impresario smiled, squeezing Dickie’s shoulder.

 

_ As long as you’re not dumb enough to actually try it. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading this piece of shit that I wrote at 3am. Yes, I know the story has a bunch missed out but what even is a plot amirite?
> 
> The two songs I used were London Calling by The Clash (Before Dickie was home) and Know Your Rights by The Clash (When Dickie was home)


End file.
